Page 40 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
Mrs Fawkes’ red hair was piled high atop her head, her dress cut low at the bosom. Sarah was reminded of Mrs Mifford’s prediction that the lady would soon be seeking a new lover—and, judging by the direction of Mr Leek’s enraptured stare, she had already found a likely candidate. He was gazing at her with reverence, though it was certainly not the beading on her bodice that held his attention.
“Well,” Lord Deverell said with surprise. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“I didn’t think he’d come,” Sarah added, “Mrs Canards said he was most upset that The Ladies’ Society wouldn’t raise funds for his collection.”
They watched silently as the pair took to the floor for the next set, their eyes only for each other. Sarah spotted Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling muttering furiously to each other as they also observed them dance.
“I thought we would be the scandal of the evening,” Sarah quipped, with some relief.
“Don’t tempt me,” Lord Deverell warned. “I’m holding on by a thread as is.”
A giddy thrill went through her at the idea she held some sort of power over such an important man. To think she had expected to find him nothing but a pompous horticulturist—
“My goodness, I nearly forgot,” Sarah gasped, turning to glance back to Mr Leek. “Mr Henderson in the butcher shop told me that he saw Mr Leek out walking on the night of the murder.”
“But, Mrs Vickery said he was at home all evening,” Lord Deverell answered slowly. Sarah could see the wheels and cogs of his mind whirring behind his grey eyes.
“Well, Mrs Vickery thinks the sun shines out of his—” Sarah stopped herself just in time before continuing carefully. “We don’t know why she lied but we do know that she is very loyalto Mr Leek. Remember what Mrs Mifford said about him saving her from a life of poverty?”
“Her answers on the day did seem to come too easily to her,” he offered, “And when I was riding home yesterday afternoon, I witnessed the death of another crow flying above Long Acres. He has quite some aim, Mr Leek.”
“So good he could shoot a man dead from a distance in the dark,” Sarah was dry.
Lord Deverell watched the couple dance for a moment, his expression troubled. Then he turned back to glance at Sarah, his face relaxed and he broke into a smile.
“I believe this is a tomorrow problem,” he decided, “I’m far too captivated by how beautiful you are to even think of Mr Leek.”
Sarah blushed again and allowed him to lead her back to where her father and the Miffords stood. She pushed Mr Leek from her mind and focused instead on trying to enjoy what was promising to be the most exciting night of her life.
The room was now packed to the gills with villagers who, to Sarah’s romantic mind, had never looked so gay and festive. She stood beside the earl as they conversed with Mary, Mr Mifford, and her father, conscious of the curious glances they drew.
She did not care a fig if people were watching, in fact she couldn’t blame them. In his dark evening suit, with a white cravat at his neck and his dark hair swept back with pomade, Lord Deverell was the most handsome man in the room.
He must have felt her staring, for the earl turned and caught her eye.
“Shall we try for a second dance?” he questioned lightly.
She nodded her assent and allowed him to take her arm to lead her back to the dance-floor.
They danced three more sets together, each more exhilarating than the last. Lord Deverell was such anaccomplished partner that Sarah barely noticed her aching feet. But by the end of the third dance, her cheeks were flushed and her throat dry, so she gladly let Mary drag her toward the refreshment table in search of lemonade.
“I don’t mean to sound like my mother but I do believe that I hear the peel of wedding bells in the distance,” Mary said mischievously, as she handed Sarah a glass.
“Lord Deverell has not mentioned anything at all about marriage,” Sarah protested.
“It’s hard to have a conversation whilst staring lovingly into someone’s eyes,” Mary said sagely, before adding innocently, “Or whilst kissing.”
“Your Grace,” Sarah exclaimed, feigning shock at the idea.
“You were never a good actress, Sarah,” Mary grinned, “Thank heaven you shall soon be a countess.”
Sarah knew that protesting further would only encourage her friend, so she settled for sipping her drink quietly as she gazed around the room. Many had taken up residence on the benches that lined the dance floor, observing the dancers. Amongst them, Sarah spotted Mrs Vickery. Dressed in severe black and wearing an expression to match, the housekeeper looked as though she was attending a funeral rather than an assembly.
Her arms were folded across her chest, and she seemed to be watching the crowd with barely concealed displeasure.
“If she and Mrs Canards did not dislike each other so much, they’d be fast friends,” Mary observed, as she followed the line of Sarah’s gaze.
“Oh, she’s much kinder than Mrs Canards,” Sarah answered, thinking of how the housekeeper had jumped to her father’s defence. “Will you excuse me a moment, I’ll just go say hello.”
